Days at Wammy House
by nellar
Summary: The endearing story of the Wammy boys at their earliest and most innocent days of childhood. Follow their development as the boys grow from toddlers, to kids, to teens, where the complexities of life begin to catch up to them. Rated M for later chapters as the kids get older.


"Red card!"

The shrill voice of a small boy rang out over the general noise of children at play. Out on the field, a sea of eyes turned to look at him in disbelief. The game of football, which only seconds ago had been so engaging, had been hastily suspended, and from the midst of young players a blonde-haired boy erupted in anger.

"Red Card!?" the child yelled as he charged at the offender. "What d'you mean red card you tit, I've not done anything!"

The referee had visibly paled and backed up as far as the wooden fence would allow. He was a short kid, with a pudgy face and the disposition of a mangled jellyfish. He always volunteered to ref in favour of joining his peers as they chased round the ball. He had neither the skill nor the stamina for physical activity, and he most definitely had neither for a fight with Mello.

"Y-you pulled Casper's arm," he tried to explain, his stutter getting worse as the other boy advanced. "I saw you, you did it twice."

"Liar!" Mello accused, grabbing the child by his shirt and slamming his back into the fence. The wood creaked from the impact, and the boy, quite obviously hurt from the action, erupted in tears.

"Mello calm down, Rodger is watching." A Serbian girl, known only as Jojo, attempted to quell the argument. "You'll get us all into trouble."

The blonde huffed and slackened his grip, but did not release his prey. "Хватит плакать," he spat. _Stop crying._ But the boy, having lived in England for the entirety of his life, understood nothing of Mello's native Russian. His agitation only increased, and his infantile wails began to attract the attention of others outside the football pitch. Two adolescents, who had previously been enjoying a game of chess in the rare autumn sunshine, were making their way to the scene of commotion.

"What's the story here lads? Having a bit of a scuffle, ey?" asked the taller of the two.

"None of your business Gecko," Mello mumbled, becoming somewhat flustered. He didn't enjoy it when the older kids got involved in his doings; he was more than capable of dealing with things on his own.

"Don't be so difficult," the latter chided. "You've already got a week of detention for mauling Panda's stuffed bear. Do you really want to have your dessert taken away for the rest of the week as well?"

Mello tensed. Talbot's words had struck a sensitive chord, and he did the mental math. Out of a seven day week, the cook usually prepared a chocolate-based dessert at least three of those times - four if someone happened to have their birthday. It was already Tuesday, and so far the desserts had been an unappealing spread of fruit salads, jello, and banana custard. That left a very high chance that the remaining desserts for the week would include copious amounts of delicious chocolate. _And_ it was Casper's birthday on Saturday, so he'd probably get a chocolate cake too. He suddenly let go of the wailing boy. Talbot laughed.

"Smart move," he said to Mello, and turned to the other child still sniffling pathetically. "Pull yourself together kid, he barely touched you. You're lucky Mello has a sweet tooth, or I wouldn't fancy being in your shoes." He winked at the blonde, and the boy rolled his eyes. He was secretly grateful that Talbot had come to intervene. He'd been only seconds away from punching the boy's nose to stop his incessant whining, regardless whether Rodger was watching or not. Still, he didn't like people knowing he needed them, so he turned away from group, and began walking back towards the main building.

"Hey! Where you going?" Jojo called after him. "We haven't finished the game yet!"

"Find someone else to play attacker. I'm done with you lot," he called over his shoulder. As he walked away, he heard a collective groan spreading through the group, followed immediately by a sympathetic Gecko offering to take his place. But the youth was triple their age and twice their height, giving an unfair advantage to the team he'd play on, so he was politely declined. With a smug grin, Mello noticed how none of the children dared challenge his choice to leave. He'd been at the orphanage for only three months, and in that short time he'd already established himself as the smartest, even if he was just four years old. The smartest, of course, except for L. Nobody was smarter than L. But Mello was perfectly content being second, if it meant being second to him.

He was so lost in thought as he walked through the main doors, that he didn't see the stroller parked at the foot of the stairs. He almost crashed into it, had the small, pale occupant not hiccupped in his sleep and startled Mello out of his stupor. The boy stopped just in time, his sneakered foot only inches away from a pair of wheels. His eyes widened when he saw the toddler strapped into the seat, his head lolling sideways onto a stuffed rabbit. He was wearing pale blue footsie pyjamas, and a matching woollen hat that barely concealed small wisps of silver hair.

"Nate River," said Mello, reading the identity tag stitched to the rabbit.

"Near."

The sudden voice came from behind him, and Mello turned in shock to find Quillsh Wammy standing at the top of the stairs. "Pardon?" the boy asked. He respectfully minded his manners with the man who'd treated him with nothing but kindness since the accident.

"His name is Near," the old man said with a kind smile as he began to descend the stairs.

"But it says Nate River on the tag," insisted Mello.

"Remember we talked about this Mello," he reminded him. "We don't use birth names in this institution."

"Oh, yeah. I'm sorry, I forgot," admitted the blonde. "Where'd he come from?" he asked, turning back to the sleeping toddler. Curiously, he reached out a finger and poked gently at his nose. The boy agitated a little in his sleep, but otherwise showed no response to being prodded. _He's kinda cute,_ thought Mello.

"Sweden," replied Quillsh. "He'll be moving in with us, into the empty room next to yours. I believe he's about two years old."

"He looks smaller," the boy commented. "Don't his parents want him anymore?" he asked, unsure why anyone would want to abandon such a defenceless little human.

Quillsh smiled, and patted Mello on the head. "I'm sure they did, and very much so. But house fires, as you know, are notoriously unfortunate affairs my dear Mello."

The blonde needed not be told any more. He knew all too well the charred, ashen consequences of a blaze uncontrolled. The books burnt, and the furniture burnt. All the clothes, and the rugs and the curtains. The glass turned black and the walls creaked and groaned. The screams turned to gasps, to whispers, to silence, until all you could hear was the crackle of fire and the far-off wail of an approaching siren. Mello understood, because he remembered. He was about to inquire further, when the presence of a third party pushed the questions out of his mind.

"Quillsh," said the newcomer. "Is that the boy?"

The old man turned to look at him. The voice that made the inquiry belonged to a pale, lanky teen that could have been no older than fourteen or fifteen. An uncontrollable shock of black hair hid the majority of his face, but somehow his dark, sullen eyes commanded the attention of anyone who so much as looked his way.

"Good afternoon, L," Quillsh Wammy greeted, as the boy stumbled down the stairs in bare feet. "Yes, this is Near. The services just brought him over."

Mello had already forgotten about the toddler, and had turned his attention to the approaching youth. Bounding with excitement at the sight of his idol, the boy reached up his arms expectantly, in that endearing way that only children do when they expect to be picked up and coddled. But L, quite unintentionally, ignored him in favour of inspecting the sleeping Near. He bent over to get a closer look, and in doing so, gave his back to Mello.

"Do we even have clothes so small?" L asked. He reached out a finger and poked the boy's nose the same way Mello had done. "And a crib, and cutlery, and diapers…" he trailed off.

"Of course, I had everything taken care of prior to his arrival. He has been well provided for," Quillsh assured. Just then, the toddler stirred awake, and upon seeing the unfamiliar surroundings and its occupants, began to softly sob. "There there, small one," the old man said in a sweet, soothing voice. "No need to cry." He turned to L. "Would you like to carry him up into his room so we may get him settled in?"

The teen seemed taken aback by this odd request, as if the old man had asked him to pickle the toddler rather than simply carry him. Unsure of himself, and with awkward, fumbling hands, he undid the clasps on the stroller and lifted the boy as if he were holding a bowl of hot miso soup. Near did not stop crying, and his handler looked expectantly at Quillsh to lead the way ahead of him. The old man obliged, and together they ascended the stairs, leaving a sad, pouting Mello staggering behind them.

He did not enjoy being ignored, most certainly not by L, and most certainly not in favour of a wailing baby. It seemed all too familiar to him- it had been just the same when his parents brought his little brother home. Nobody picked him up anymore, or showered him with undivided love and attention. He had to share that with the miniature blonde lying peacefully in the bassinet. It occurred to him now, though not without a pang, that he'd give anything to have that baby boy back, even if all he did was cry and keep their mother busy. But Mello was clever, and being clever meant knowing that 'the deep deep sleep' was not something you ever woke up from. He chewed all this up in his head as he followed the procession up the stairs and into the corridor that housed the boys' rooms.

As they disappeared into the toddler's new quarters, the freckled face of a mischievous redhead poked out of the opposite door. Mello spotted him just as he turned the corner, and the boy grinned in greeting. "Was that a crying baby?" asked the curious child. The boy, of course, was none other than five year-old Matt. He was still wearing his pajamas, and holding onto a cheap brick console that proved to be the reason behind his absence on the football field.

Mello nodded. "He's going to live next door. They said his name is Near."

"Near," Matt repeated, unable to suppress a giggle. "What an odd thing to call a baby." Then, he looked at his friend and wondered whether the blonde could take a jab at his own name. "Still," he teased, "always better than _Mello._ "

The boy rolled his eyes and playfully punched the gamer. "Shut up Matty."

"Well, at least I'm not named after confectionary."

"L likes marshmallows," Mello reasoned. "Maybe he picked my name."

"Sure," Matt said, craning his neck over the top of his friend's head to look inside the toddler's room. "Let's go look at the kid," he suggested. The sun was shining bright and warm that day, and nobody was inside the orphanage except for them. They had a few more hours to kill before dinner, and neither of them fancied joining the kids in their games.

Mello shrugged. "Sure, let's see if he can talk."

When the boys entered the room, they found L and Quillsh looking down into crib. The teen was gnawing on his thumb, seemingly lost in thought, but when Mello stepped through the doorway he lifted his gaze and acknowledged their presence. "Shh," he mimed, indicating that they were to be quiet. The boys walked over cautiously, and tentatively peered in between the bars at the sleeping Near. They had changed him out of his blue clothes into crisp, white pajamas that appeared slightly too big for him. Now that the woollen hat had been removed, the delicate crown of soft silver curls was framing the toddler's angelic cheeks. It would appear that Matt agreed with Mello's sentiment. He _was_ a cute baby.

Still feeling embarrassed from L's earlier rejection, Mello did not reach out to be picked up again. The youth surprised him however, when he curled his fingers around Mello's middle and hoisted him up to get a better look. Quite overjoyed, the young boy drew his arm around L's neck, and with the other steadied himself by grasping at his shirt. Matt disliked being picked up, and neither L nor Quillsh made no attempt to do so. They stared at the child for a while, so silent you might have missed them if you walked past the door. Mello was trying to work out when Near would be old enough to play with him and Matt. He had decided that since Near was sleeping next to _their_ rooms, that he would be _their_ friend and play with _them_. And maybe if L liked the baby so much, then he'd be around more to play with them because of that.

Mello smiled. He like Near already.


End file.
